


What Bards Want

by AbigailKinney4life



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Choking, Coming Untouched, Dry Humping, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Rough Sex, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, blink and you miss it breathplay, jaskier is a kinky bitch, slight non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23135725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbigailKinney4life/pseuds/AbigailKinney4life
Summary: Everyone knows Geralt is a softie. He kicks ass without mercy but around those he cares for, he melts. So when Jaskier finally makes his feelings for the Witcher known – and they’re reciprocated – it’s no surprise to the bard when the witcher takes him to his bed and makes love to him, soft and slow, restraining the animal, the brute, Jaskier craves.Which is all well and good, lovely even, but Jaskier really, really wants to befucked.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 73
Kudos: 1676





	What Bards Want

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is pure filth and I should be ashamed of myself.
> 
> Edit: I'm BLOWN AWAY by all the amazing comments/kudos/bookmarks and support! All my love to all of you ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Jaskier groaned, deep and low, the noise rumbling through his chest and out of his mouth as Geralt sunk into him.

He’d been thinking about this all day, ever since Geralt had saddled up Roach that morning, the muscles of his forearms going taut as he wrapped the leather strap around his large hands and tugged. Oh how Jaskier wanted those strong arms to hold him down, those thick, veiny hands around his throat pinning him down so he couldn’t move no matter how much he wriggled.

He’d jumped on the witcher as soon as he’d closed the door to their rented room, purses heavy after a particularly successful werewolf hunt, pressing him against the wooden door, dick spurting precum at the sound of the wood groaning under the witcher’s hulking weight. One hand slid down a leather-clad thigh and tightened deliciously around Geralt’s thick length, another tangled in white locks. His breath ghosted over Geralt’s parted lips, the witcher’s breath bated, golden eyes focused on Jaskier’s own, willing him to lean forward, to press lips to waiting lips but instead Jaskier tightened his grip on Geralt’s hair and yanked his head back, baring his neck to Jaskier. The witcher growled low in his throat but made no attempt to move. His cock hardened to a rock under Jaskier’s grasp. The bard nosed his way along Geralt’s exposed neck, feeling the blood running through his pulse-point, his tongue flicked out, drawing its way wetly up the vein and nipping at his earlobe.

“Fuck me.” He demanded.

“Hmm.” Geralt growled dangerously, and before Jaskier knew it, two strong hands were on his chest, shoving him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the frame of the bed and buckled.

Which is how they got here: naked, Geralt on top of him, arms on either side of Jaskier’s head, holding his weight just so that the firm lines of his body were still pressed against him but not crushing him, and his cock buried so deep in his ass that Jaskier could almost taste it.

“Oh, fuck, _Geralt._ ” He sighed. “Hmm. Need you, been thinking about you all day.”

Geralt ‘hmm’d’ in appreciation before bowing his head and capturing the bards mouth in a sweet kiss. Jaskier opened his lips instinctively, tangling his tongue with the witcher’s and sighing. Geralt made a surprised noise into his mouth but allowed himself to be kissed fervently.

Jaskier bucked his hips, desperately seeking friction where he needed it most, shifting Geralt’s frankly enormous cock in his ass. Geralt, taking the hint, drew his hips back, letting himself slip almost entirely out of Jaskier’s sucking heat, until only the engorged head rested against Jaskier’s puffy hole. He sunk back in slowly, forcing a punched-out moan from the bard that he swallowed from his mouth. Geralt was used to Jaskier being bratty and demanding in bed, letting him know what he wanted and Geralt obliged, each and every time. And Jaskier tried not to get frustrated, he really tried, refusing to take for granted the gentle caresses and submission his big scary witcher gave to him.

But that was just it. They’d been sleeping together for a few months now, and Jaskier had been surprised by how gentle a lover the witcher was. He’d assumed, from what he had overheard in their adjacent rooms or when they’d visited brothels in the past, that Geralt fucked hard and fast, wringing orgasm after orgasm out of sweating men and women alike while his witcher’s stamina meant he was only warming up. _Those_ were the fantasies that had kept Jaskier up in the middle of the night, that had made his hand travel down and wrap around his cock. He imagined thick arms pinning his hips to the floor as Geralt drove his thick cock in and out of his helpless body, taking exactly what he wanted and showing Jaskier heaven along the way. Two or three sharp tugs was all it took before he was painting the blankets white with his desperation.

What he hadn’t been expecting was Geralt’s strong hands stroking his body in soft, gentle caresses, his fangs covered by soft, sweet lips that ghosted over his pulse-point, that tasted his skin and lapped at his sensitive nipples like a mother doe cleaning its babe.

Geralt broke off the kiss and pressed his lips against Jaskier’s neck, suckling on the tender flesh as his hips shifted, thick thighs parting Jaskier’s willing legs like the red sea and sinking even deeper inside him, pressing his thick cockhead against Jaskier’s swollen prostate.

Jaskier’s hole fluttered around the thick cock spearing him open, his mouth fell open in a strangled cry and his hands scrambled, tangling in Geralt’s hair, dragging him back to his mouth and whispering, begging, _please, Geralt, please, harder, harder, I need_

Jaskier’s hips stuttered, rutting against the cock inside him, driving it deeper, clenching around the thickness, slamming his ass down finally, _finally_ – but then Geralt’s hand was on his waist, stilling him embarrassingly easily and slipping out of his wanting heat. Jaskier’s cock, gushing precum, jerked in frustration and Jaskier _wailed._

“Geralt, please!” He begged with teeth bared. “ _Fuck me!_ ”

“So desperate.” Geralt hummed, golden eyes aflame with a mixture of amusement and desire. “Such a whore for my cock.”

“I am!” Jaskier whined. “Please, Geralt, fuck me, destroy me, make me yours, _I need it._ ”

Geralt chuckled, _actually fucking chuckled,_ as he sunk back in agonisingly slowly and Jaskier thought he was going to go mad.

He reached down and wrapped a hand around his own cock, hard as steel, and jerked himself hard, punishingly, the delicious friction pushing him over the edge as Geralt fucked him closer to the brink and he shuddered as he spilled between them.

Geralt groaned into his neck, allowing himself a few small, desperate thrusts into Jaskier’s quivering asshole before pulling out and rolling over to the side. His hard cock throbbed heavy against the tight muscle of his lower abdomen.

This was also something Jaskier had gotten used to very quickly. Geralt never fucked him after he’d come, no matter how much Jaskier pestered him, and since one of Geralt’s witcher abilities seemed to be the ability to drive Jaskier insane with desire, he very rarely, if ever, lasted as long as Geralt did.

The bard wasted no time rolling onto his stomach, letting out a sharp noise when his cock rubbed against the blankets, before wrapping a hand around Geralt, positively drooling at the way his manly hands, with long, lute-playing fingers, could barely just meet around the girth of the witcher’s meaty cock. That had just been inside him. He would have given his lute to mount Geralt right there, sit on his cock, feel it slide in his stretched hole and ride him to a mind-blowing orgasm. But he knew Geralt would never let him, the one fucking time in bed he did use his strength, so he settled on something else.

He swallowed Geralt down as far as he could, eyes rolling back into his skull as his lips stretched obscenely around the thick shaft. Saliva dribbled down and pooled at the base.

Geralt’s eyes burst open and his hand grasped painfully at Jaskier’s neck in surprise. Jaskier moaned, eyes fluttering at the rough treatment. His spent cock gave an interested twitch between his legs.

“Jaskier…” It was breathy but it sounded like a warning. “You don’t have to do that.”

Jaskier groaned again, this time in frustration, as he realised that the hand on his neck wasn’t pushing him down, choking him on his massive dick, but was urging him up and off, until only the red, spittle-slick crown rested, barely there, against his tongue.

Geralt groaned at the sight of him, brow furrowed in pain as it looked like the only thing he wanted was to shove Jaskier’s head down, or thrust up into the sucking heat, and Jaskier’s eyes begged him to give into his carnal instincts, to use him roughly and cum down his throat, but he didn’t. Jaskier let his cock slip free as Geralt threw an arm over his eyes, his chest heaving with a ragged rise and fall as he fought to control himself.

The annoyance ebbed from Jaskier as he looked at Geralt, a beast with willing prey who was still denying himself out of some daft chivalry. Daft though it was, it was still sweet and it made Jaskier’s heart go soggy. Geralt was a pain in his ass but gods above, Jaskier loved him _so much._

“Hey,” he said gently, running a hand up Geralt’s stomach soothingly. The witcher uncovered his eyes and looked back at him. “Let me take care of you.”

Geralt said nothing, his nod so small it took a trained Geralt-spotter to notice. Jaskier presented him with his best award-winning smile before he licked a long stripe up his cock, sucking the head back into his mouth, keeping eye contact with Geralt the entire time.

Geralt’s mouth was slightly open, tongue wetting his lips and his eyes, on fire, never left Jaskier. Jaskier worked his hand between his own legs as he continued to work his mouth over Geralt, the pair came together. After swallowing him down, Jaskier pulled off of Geralt with a slick ‘pop’ and collapsed next to him.

“Thank you.” Geralt said.

Jaskier didn’t respond.

…

They stayed in town for a few days, living off of the coin from the werewolf hunt and the money Jaskier procured nightly by singing bawdy tunes and winking and comely maidens and lords alike in the tavern. Geralt pretended not to care but Jaskier could see him scowling into his tankard. The jealously put a spring in Jaskier’s step.

It wasn’t long before Geralt was restless to move on and find a new monster to kill. Jaskier was willing to find a new audience. That was how he found himself sitting on a hay bale in the inn’s stables, idling tuning his lute and watching as Geralt tightened Roach’s saddle.

He smirked to himself, remembering the very hot and heavy night the pair had shared, spurned on by this very act.

He looked down at his lute distractedly. It wasn’t the first time in the last couple of days his mind had drifted back to that encounter. But rather than being fond memories that replayed in Jaskier’s mind and inspired him to write a glorious ballad about Geralt’s glorious…ahem, well, anyway, he’d been troubled. Troubled by just how _unresponsive_ Geralt was in their lovemaking. Jaskier was worried, if he were being truthful, that Geralt didn’t enjoy himself when they fucked, which was why he followed Jaskier’s every whim, never took what he wanted and never fucking _came,_ so he could get it over and done with. It was like he was servicing Jaskier rather than fucking him. The thought was like a swift punch to Jaskier’s gut.

“Geralt…” Jaskier drew out the word, half-hoping the witcher wouldn’t hear him or would simply ignore him.

Geralt, used to his bard being abrasive and unashamed, pricked up at the tentativeness in his voice.

“What?” He asked, not abandoning Roach or even turning to look at him.

“I was just thinking, about the other night.”

That was as much as Geralt needed to know exactly what Jaskier was referring to.

“I’m not fucking you on some dirty hay out in the open.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Geralt, my dearest, if I were trying to seduce you, don’t you think I could do a little better than that?”

Geralt, who had been brushing Roach’s fur, abandoned her coat and finally turned to Jaskier. The bard still wasn’t looking at him.

“Jaskier.” So many implications in one word. Jaskier didn’t answer, petulantly.

The witcher, refusing to mince his words or play Jaskier’s games, stalked forward and put a gloved hand on Jaskier’s chin, the brittle leather scrapped against the bard’s chin as Geralt forced his face up to meet his.

Jaskier’s cock jumped in his breeches. If only Geralt were like _this_ in bed.

“Talk.” He said sternly.

 _Well, there’s no going back now._ He thought, before “why don’t you fuck me?”

Geralt’s eyebrow quirked in confusion and he released Jaskier’s chin.

“I don’t understand.”

“I, uh…” Jaskier scratched the back of his neck, he could feel his cheeks going red. “I don’t mean we don’t have sex, don’t get me wrong. I just mean…you know, I feel like you placate me, sometimes.”

Geralt frowned. “Placate you?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind, I would _like_ , if you took control a bit more. You don’t always have to be sweet and gentle; you know, I won’t break.” He tried a shy smile but Geralt’s mouth was set into a hard line. Not a look Jaskier was unused to, but never in regard to their love making. He almost felt guilty for tainting, what must have been to Geralt, a sacred, secretive act they shared.

“I see.” He turned and stalked back to Roach.

“Geralt, wait-“ Jaskier hopped up, abandoning his lute on the hay. He grabbed Geralt’s wrist and the witcher stilled. Jaskier manoeuvred around him in a tight circle until they were face to face. “Would you just listen to me?”

“Move, Jaskier.” Geralt all but commanded.

Jaskier dug his feet in and set his jaw. “No, listen to me for once.”

“I would if you had something of worth to say.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Jaskier scowled. “I need you to understand-“

“I understand.” Geralt said curtly. “You don’t like the way I fuck you. We don’t have to continue if I’m so _unsatisfying_ to you.”

“You _don’t fuck me,_ that’s the problem!” Jaskier all but shouted, unsure how he had gotten so riled up but Jesus Christ, that’s what Geralt did to him sometimes. He got right in Geralt’s personal space until their noses were brushing each other. “I will not be tossed aside on your whims because you refuse to open your brutish ears.”

“Careful, little lark.” Geralt growled. Jaskier could feel his hot breath on his lips. The urge to surge forward and kiss him was painful. “Don’t challenge a witcher.”

“Then fucking act like one!” Jaskier shoved Geralt in the chest with both hands. The witcher didn’t move an inch and all Jaskier managed to do was propel himself back a few feet but the message was implicit.

“You couldn’t handle me.” Was all that Geralt said.

“Yeah, I know that’s what you think.” Jaskier admitted. “I know you seem to think you’re going to break me in half like a twig if you so much as look at me sternly. But you’re like that all the time normally. What’s so different about when we’re alone?”

“Because you’re a human.” Geralt explained. “And I am stronger than you. I could break you easily. Whether you chose to accept that or not is not my concern. I’m not…” He frowned. “I’m not going to hurt you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier took a tentative step forward. “You aren’t going to hurt me by having sex with me, Geralt. Don’t you think I’ve been with other men before? I like it rough, Geralt, and I know you do, as well. Being fucked hard by someone who can hurt you, but won’t, it’s an incredible high. Besides, don’t tell me I can’t handle you, that’s bullshit and you know it. I’m not a small man by any means, you think your massive cock is going to fuck me to death?”

He expected a small smile, at least, but Geralt gave him nothing.

“Would you believe I’ve never been with anyone I cared for who wasn’t Yennefer?” Geralt tried to explain. “I didn’t have to worry about hurting her, but you, I don’t want to wake up one morning and find you next to me, covered in bruises or worse, because I’m a monster. That’s not unreasonable.”

Jaskier knew he should have been taking Geralt’s words of concern to heart, but all he heard was _Yennefer._ Fucking Yennefer. Apparently, he wore his scowl on his face because Geralt’s eyes wavered in uncertainty.

“Well, if Yennefer’s the only one who can _handle you,_ why don’t you fuck off back to her then?”

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s low voice followed him as he picked up his lute and stalked back into the inn.

_That went well._

…

Jaskier fully expected Geralt to take Roach and leave him behind, and he was so pissed off, he was ready to let him, so he was surprised when, halfway through a sonnet dedicated to a particularly doe-eyed beauty nursing a drink while her husband laughed loudly with his friends, Geralt stalked back inside and went to the bar.

True to his craft, Jaskier’s fingers kept strumming and his mouth kept singing, but his eyes followed the witcher.

Geralt exchanged a few quiet words with the innkeeper before walking over to Jaskier. Jaskier tore his gaze away and pretended to focus his attentions solely on the doe-eyed wife.

“I got us a room for the night.” Geralt said gruffly, not bothering to get his attention. Jaskier’s eyes snapped to him. “And I’ve ordered a bath, will you join me?”

Jaskier nodded mutely and Geralt turned and stalked back to their room.

Jaskier sat in relative shock for a few long moments. He’d told Geralt to leave, to go back to Yennefer, and he’d stayed. He’d chosen him.

“You should go.” The doe-eyed wife said spitefully into her drink. “Your bath water will get cold.”

He was gone by the time she looked up.

Jaskier rode Geralt, soft and slow, the warm water lapping around them and splashing gently against their overheated skin. Geralt’s hands crawled up Jaskier’s back, holding him firm against his chest in silent apology. Jaskier buried his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck, breathing in that heady scent of lavender and leather that clung to the witcher, and wanted to stay in that moment forever.

Jaskier ground his ass down on Geralt’s stiff cock, inviting the witcher to buck up into him. He slowed the movement of his hips, giving him the opportunity to inch his hands down, to take control.

But he didn’t.

…

They left the next day, taking Roach down south, following the warmer weather and stopping in a coastal town with lush views and stiff, cold breezes. They were barely halfway through their drinks in a tavern with conch shells and anchors on the walls when a group of fishermen approached them and told Geralt of a mysterious serpent stalking the coastline and devouring fish and fishermen alike.

“Sounds like a drowner.” Geralt grunted.

After negotiating a price, and agreeing that Jaskier would stay behind, despite his protests, because apparently drowners were vicious creatures and Geralt would be better going alone, Geralt set off with Roach and Jaskier took to their room to unpack.

He ate a meagre meal but found he had no appetite for it. He was tempted to go to the tavern and entertain his adoring audience with the latest song he’d written about Geralt defeating the werewolf. He hadn’t sung that one in public yet. But the idea fizzled out in his mind as quickly as it had appeared.

He let himself fall back on the bed with a _whump_ and stared up at the ceiling. He would have liked to pretend that he didn’t know what was bothering him, and he was just having a down day, but that was a lie.

Something had changed between Geralt and Jaskier since their fight in the stables a couple of weeks ago. Geralt seemed surer of himself and his feelings when it came to the bard. Silly little things like a stabilising hand on the small of his back when they were walking up a steep hill or kissing him when they weren’t even having sex. It was like he was somehow trying to prove to Jaskier that he wanted to be with him and not run off back to Yennefer.

The memory of what Geralt had said about Yennefer being able to ‘handle him’ when Jaskier couldn’t still pissed him off, because no matter how invested Geralt became in their relationship, he still truly believed that. He still believed that Yennefer was better, more suited to him than Jaskier and Jaskier was…well, what, a liability? A precious doll that needed protecting. Was that why he wasn’t dealing with the drowner right now with Geralt? Why, despite everything, Geralt still caressed his body as if he were handling glass, still stroked his cock like he was handling a new-born pup, still fucked his ass like gentle ocean waves lapping at the shore?

Jaskier had _never_ been in a predicament like this before, where he was getting it on the regular, and getting it good, yet still felt completely unsatisfied. Because he was a selfless lover, that was why he was so notoriously popular. Seeing and making his partners reach the peak of ecstasy was like an opiate to him, it was more fun than getting off himself. He just wanted the slightest inkling that Geralt was being even remotely satisfied when they were wrapped up in each other.

But also, and he felt petulant for even thinking it, he missed getting well and truly _railed._ Being fucked so hard and fast he saw stars was a high for Jaskier that he’d never stopped chasing. He needed sex, he needed excitement. He’d spent such a long time with the witcher as ‘not friends’, fantasising about those strong arms and that thick cock ploughing into him without mercy, about Geralt controlling him and _you’ll stop cumming when I tell you it’s time to stop_ and oh Gods…his cock was as hard as a rock in his breeches. His eyes slid shut as he palmed himself roughly through the fabric, imagining Geralt’s rough, calloused hands were there instead.

He shucked off his breeches and felt a soft thud as they hit the floor, but he was still in his head. His hand wrapped around himself and he tugged sharply, crying out.

 _You like that?_ Geralt growled in his ear. _You like being treated like a whore?_

A thumb – his or Geralt’s? – pressed into the sopping wet slit of his cockhead, sending shivers down his balls and he kicked his legs out.

“Oh, Gods, Geralt!” He shrieked.

 _Oh, now you want me to stop?_ His witcher chuckled cruelly. _After all you’ve put me through?_ Breath ghosted over his ear. _Not a chance._

Another sharp twist on his sensitive cock head and Jaskier yelped, trying desperately to close his legs but a hand stilled his hip as his cock was jerked mercilessly with sharp, tight tugs.

 _Cum for me, you little brat,_ said Geralt’s low, gravelly voice, thick with lust and irritation. _And when you do, I’m going to fuck that tight little asshole of yours until you_ cry

A throaty groan ripped its way out of Jaskier’s throat as his cock pulsed in his hand, shooting stream after stream of white onto his stomach. His legs shook and his chest heaved as he released his still twitching cock and winced at how tightly his left hand was gripping his hip. When he released himself, he saw the deep red marks left there by his fingers.

He felt satiated and calm for a moment, but when the post-orgasm bliss began to ebb, he swallowed thickly.

He couldn’t let it go, not when he could have Geralt, all of Geralt, the person he gave so willingly to others but denied the one he claimed to care for the most.

 _I’ll show him fucking ‘weak’,_ his mind spat.

…

Geralt returned to the inn that evening, soaked to the bone and covered in a dark purple mucus, the part of the drowner it came out of, Jaskier did not want to know.

He helped the witcher peel out of his armour and climb into a waiting bath in silence, not trusting his voice to say anything other than _impale me on your fat cock or get out of my face._ Frankly, he wasn’t in the mood for Geralt’s sweet little gestures and caresses when he was probably fantasising about being balls-deep in _Yennefer_ or some cheap whore and fuck their brains out finally get his rocks off.

So when Geralt, still damp from the bath, walked up behind him while he was storing away the bath salts, and pressed his naked back against Jaskier’s clothed one, pressing soft kisses on the sensitive spot on his neck he loved so much and trailed his large hand down his front and cupped him loosely through his breeches, Jaskier moved away.

“Probably not the best idea after today.” He tried lightly. “After fighting the drowner, that is, you might have, ah, pulled something.”

It was the lamest excuse he’d ever used in his life that anyone could see through clearer than glass.

He turned away, planning to brush past the witcher and climb into bed and forget this day, this life, was happening to him but he was stunted by the sight of Geralt. His wet body glistened under the flickering candlelight, his cock, hard as a post, stood taut against his stomach, and his eyes were full of guarded concern.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Nothing.” Jaskier said too quickly, too brightly. “I just don’t feel like it, okay?”

Geralt was already shaking his head. “Forget that. You’re behaving strangely.”

 _Like glass,_ he reminded himself. _He knows you._

Jaskier shrugged. “I just want to get some sleep.” He attempted to walk past Geralt and to the bed.

Jaskier yelped in surprise when two firm hands settled on his upper arms, stopping him dead in the middle of the room and forcing him face to face with the witcher and he looked…mad. It sent a thrill up Jaskier’s spine.

“Don’t piss me off, bard, I’m in no mood.” The voice was low and rough, the hands on his arms gripped firmly, his still hard cock pressed firmly against Jaskier’s hip. Apparently, the fight with the drowner had riled Geralt up more than he had let on, with no one to take his frustrations out on. Except for Jaskier, of course.

Fuck, he was going to cream his pants.

“What are you going to do?” Jaskier challenged, voice low. “I keep stepping out of line, Geralt. Maybe I need reminding who’s in charge.” He bit his lip. “Maybe I need to be punished.”

Geralt stared at him for the longest time before letting out a low ‘hmm’ and releasing him from his grip and stepping away, and all of the tension dissipated from the room.

“Get some sleep.” Was all he said before he went off to find his clothes.

When Jaskier slipped under the blankets, alone, he wasn’t annoyed or disappointed, rather, his body thrummed with excitement, with opportunity. There was only one way to prove to Geralt how much he could handle, how well he could take it.

He didn’t need an errant drowner to piss Geralt off, in that particular field, Jaskier was a _master._

…

They spent the next week travelling through the woodlands. Unintentionally, according to Jaskier, who was all too aware of how perilously close it was getting to Autumn and didn’t particularly want to be outside in that sort of weather when he could be warm and snug by a hearth. But Geralt loved traversing through these wild areas, picking off the beastly nuisances they came across, living off the land like a wild man. Geralt seemed…well, at home when they travelled like this and Jaskier begrudgingly followed, as he followed him everywhere.

Jaskier was not as accustomed to outdoor living. He needed heat, company, entertainment, and he often found himself sat moodily watching whilst Geralt did most everything: made camp, started fires, hunted game, while he half-heartedly composed a limerick to express his mood.

 _There was a bard of impeccable wit, who just stood in a big pile of sh_ -

But not this time. This time, Jaskier was far too preoccupied with his plan, his plan to rile his witcher up until he couldn’t take the frustration and took it out on the nuisance causing it.

Just the thought of strong hands pinning his wrists, eyes like thunder staring into his, went straight to his dick and he had to position his lute so Geralt wouldn’t notice and spoil to surprise.

Not that tempers weren’t normally frayed in these sorts of situations. Geralt thrived and Jaskier grumbled but the lack of warmth, hot food and general comfort got to anyone after a while. After a few days of travelling and sleeping in bed rolls under trees, Geralt was complaining of a stiff back and after a day of leading Roach through narrow, steep passageways with no food and cold air biting at their skin, Geralt’s face had settled into a hard mask that very much said ‘do not mess.’

Jaskier grinned. _Show time._

…

Roach whinnied in appreciation as she curled her tired legs up and laid her head down on soft grass. Geralt patted her neck affectionately before leaving her to sleep and joining Jaskier under a large oak tree where they’d dropped off their packs.

Jaskier was worrying a quill beneath his teeth, frowning heavily like the fate of the world depended on what he was writing down. Composing, then.

Geralt busied himself with building a fire and by the time the sun dipped below the horizon, earlier and earlier in the run up to Autumn, the fire was crackling healthily in front of the tree.

With a pleased but tired hum, the witcher lay back on his bed roll, safe under the canopy, clasped his hands together and closed his eyes.

Jaskier, back leant against the tree trunk, paused over his parchment and caught sight of Geralt sighing softly to himself, stretched out and attempting to get some rest after their perilous day.

Quietly, Jaskier swapped his parchment for his lute, he had just raised the string instrument to his lap when –

“If you strum so much as one chord, I’ll feed you to Roach.”

Even though he was trying to push Geralt’s buttons, Jaskier still pouted in indignation but he needn’t have bothered. The witcher hadn’t even opened his eyes.

Jaskier narrowed his eyes and started playing in defiance. Only softly, what he believed to be the most gorgeous lullaby he’d ever composed, renowned for putting babies to sleep in seconds. If Geralt had any good taste, he too would be snoring, but the philistine instead cracked an eye open and glared at the bard.

“Jaskier.” He growled in warning.

Jaskier couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face like sunshine, the giddy excitement in his gut. If he thought he was being subtle, he was wrong.

“What?” He feigned innocence. “I’m merely singing you to sleep.”

“The aim is rest, Jaskier, not listen to a cat being tortured.”

“If you think you can hurt my feelings, my dearest, you are sorely mistaken.” Jaskier hummed. _“Oh, when darkness blankets the ground, and the children have go-one to sleep…”_

“Hmm.” Geralt’s guttural voice cut through Jaskier’s gentle singing and the witcher was on his feet with a noiseless fluidity that still shocked the bard after all this time. He expected golden eyes staring daggers in his face, and a hand around his throat cutting of the air. He was only allowed to breathe when Geralt allowed it, of course…

Geralt turned his back and stalked off past Roach and disappeared into the night.

Jaskier, body taut as his lute strings, let out a huff and slumped back against the tree.

…

The witcher was more beast than man. He crouched low, muscles coiled and ready to spring. His eyes, sharp as steel, narrowed in on the plump rabbit as it sniffed the woodland floor, unaware of its doom stalking it silently from above.

The witcher raised a hand, dagger at the ready, and plunged-

“Geraaaaalt. Have you caught anything yet? I’m _starving_.”

Geralt’s eyes hit the sky as the rabbit’s ears perked up and it scurried away.

“Ow, ow, shit, get off…ooh, it’s nasty here.”

Geralt turned on one foot to see Jaskier with his foot caught in a tree root. He tried to pull it free, tugged too hard, and fell backwards to the ground with a resounding thud and a loud cry of ‘oh fuck!’ Geralt sighed. He could hear wildlife for miles scatter.

He stalked over to Jaskier, hands on hips, and stared down at the bard brushing dirt off his embroidered doublet.

“Is it just me, or you being particularly annoying today?”

“Meh meh meh.” Jaskier mocked in a high-pitched voice.

Geralt shook his head and leant down, grasping Jaskier by the wrist and hauling his whole body weight up like he weighed nothing.

“ _Oh_.” A surprised, and not entirely displeased, sound escaped the bard but Geralt was quick to let him go. He turned swiftly and followed the path the rabbit had taken.

“Damnit.” Jaskier cursed, kicking the tree root harder than he’d meant to. “ _Ow._ ”

…

Fat and full from roasted rabbit, stretched out on blankets beneath the stars, Geralt seemed to forgive Jaskier for scaring away their dinner as he rolled over on top of him and pressed a long, lingering kiss to Jaskier’s unexpecting lips.

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered closed as he allowed himself to be kissed, enjoying the soft pressure, the warmth of the skin, and soon he was tangling his hands in Geralt’s white hair. He gave an experimental tug. A low noise escaped the witcher’s throat, discomfort, perhaps? But then Geralt’s wet tongue was pressing between Jaskier’s lips, sinking into his waiting mouth. Perhaps not.

Jaskier groaned as Geralt’s hands travelled to his hips, his thigh pushed Jaskier’s legs open and Geralt deepened the kiss, lips sliding wetly against Jaskier’s own, tongue pressing hot and insistent against his, stealing his breath away. Jaskier felt dizzy, and it wasn’t long before he noticed he was grinding his crotch against Geralt’s clothed thigh like a dog rutting in heat.

Geralt chuckled against his mouth. “Do you want to cum?” He rumbled as he pressed warm, wet kisses to the sides of Jaskier’s mouth. His hands pulled Jaskier’s shirt from his trousers, slipping underneath and running over his stomach.

“No.” Jaskier groaned, too far gone to really hear himself. He felt _so good._ “I want you to cum.”

Geralt’s hands paused. So did his mouth. Jaskier didn’t like that one bit. He curled one hand painfully around the witcher’s neck, dragging him down into a bruising kiss. Geralt obliged him for a moment before he was attempting to pull away again.

“Jaskier…” Geralt muttered uncertainly against his lips.

“No, no, no, don’t stop.” Jaskier begged. His cock _ached_ in his breeches. The delicious friction against Geralt’s muscular thigh was amazing but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what he _needed_.

Jaskier hooked a knee around Geralt’s waist and, using all of his body weight, swivelled them until Geralt was shoved flat to the floor and Jaskier’s knees were planted on either side of his hips. Jaskier’s cock slid against Geralt’s own and they both gasped.

Jaskier planted his hands on Geralt’s broad chest and pushed, knowing he couldn’t stop him moving even if he tried, but hoping Geralt would get the message and stay still. Jaskier locked eyes with Geralt, whose unnatural pupils were blown with a mixture of lust and confusion, before he rolled his hips, catching Geralt’s cock against his own, and again, and again, and soon the witcher’s eyes were rolling back into his head and his large hands were migrating, settling on Jaskier’s hips, holding, not gripping, not urging, just holding him. Jaskier continued to buck wildly against Geralt’s solid form, dry humping him like a teenager. Gods, he was going to cum.

He released Geralt’s chest as he sped up, his hips snapping forward, rubbing their clothed cocks together, and his hands settled over Geralt’s hands on his hips. The witcher let out a satisfied moan but Jaskier wasn’t done, he wasn’t _there, but he was oh so close._ Drunk on ecstasy, on _Geralt_ , Jaskier drew Geralt’s hands up over his waist, his chest, his nipples, until he enclosed those thick fingers around his throat and held them there, and squeezed.

He came with a shout as Geralt scrambled his hands away, the momentum of it all sent the bard onto his back. Legs twitching from orgasm, but head sore from whacking it on the ground, Jaskier stared up at the stars in complete shock for a few long moments before he remembered how to breathe.

“What the hell was that?” He demanded, pushing himself up into a sitting position. He pulled a face at the cold, sticky mess he could feel in his trousers.

“I should be asking you that.” Geralt replied thickly. He was sat back on his haunches, cock hard as a rock and straining against his breeches, but his eyes were cold and…fearful?

“Geralt?”

“Don’t ever do that again.” He said sternly.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and started fiddling with his soiled trousers distractedly. “Right, because you might strangle me to death.”

“Do not fucking joke, Jaskier!”

Jaskier’s head snapped to Geralt. He didn’t look scared anymore, he looked fucking furious.

“Geralt. I…” Jaskier faltered.

But Geralt was already moving away, leaving Jaskier sat alone in a pool of his own cum. His hand travelled to his throat, and he wished, probably for the first time in his life, that he was less voracious.

…

They didn’t speak much the next day. They were both tired, sore and hungry, and Jaskier was fully used to Geralt not talking his problems out, so he resigned himself to wait until the witcher decided to speak to him.

They both felt relief then, when they happened across a small town around three miles outside of the forest. Geralt was quick to accept work from a passing farmer to chase off some pixies after his grain and was gone, and Jaskier took to the local tavern, picking up his lute for the first time in days.

To his utter delight, many of the patrons had heard of him and started shoving money and drinks at him and making requests. The attention was making Jaskier as drunk as the ale. After a few hours of music, a fair few renditions of ‘Toss a Coin to your Witcher’ and a few pints later, and Jaskier was more than a little merry.

He finished on a high note to raucous applause before bowing deep and low. He slumped at a table, taking a long swig of his drink. Before he could even put his cup down, a man had sidled up next to him. He instinctively thought it was Geralt before he remembered that Geralt wasn’t here, Geralt didn’t want to be around him right now. He huffed to himself and turned his attentions to the stranger.

“And who might you be?”

The man was tall and broad with a strong jawline and a thicket of windswept brunette hair, short at the sides and floppy at the top. He brushed his hair out of his chestnut eyes. If Jaskier had been eighteen again, he would have fallen in love instantly.

“I just wanted to tell you how amazing you are.” The man blushed. “Your voice is beautiful.”

Jaskier laughed loudly. His lowered inhibitions, thanks to the ale, helped him accept the compliment to his core.

“Thank you, it’s not often I have someone admit they like my singing.”

The cute stranger stared at him quizzically, obviously confused by such an admission after Jaskier had just brought the house down.

The beautiful stranger lent in closer. “Who doesn’t like your singing?” He asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh.” Jaskier scoffed with a drunken gesticulation to no one in particular. “Just some annoying git.”

“Sounds like he doesn’t deserve you.” The stranger’s voice was low, his eyes locked on Jaskier.

The bard blinked, only realising then how close the stranger had gotten, how, if he lent forward just a few inches more, they would be kissing.

Jaskier smiled dolefully and pulled back. “Listen, love, I’m flattered but…”

Before Jaskier could finish his sentence, a gloved hand curled around the stranger’s shoulder, yanking him back.

“Geralt!” Jaskier exclaimed as the witcher yanked the stranger from his seat by the scruff and tossed him aside.

“Hey, what the hell!” The stranger yelled indignantly as he righted himself and caught sight of Geralt for the first time. His gold eyes, bone-white hair and black armour over rippling muscle. “What’s your problem, you fucking mutant scum.”

Jaskier’s heart dropped and the stranger turned from beautiful to ugly in a second but he barely _had_ a second to process it before Geralt’s arm was curling around his elbow, yanking him forward and dragging him roughly through the tavern.

“Geralt!” Jaskier yelped, sobering quickly as he was manhandled up the stairs and practically thrown into a bedroom Geralt must have secured for them earlier. Fuck, Jaskier didn’t care as those golden eyes bored into him furiously as Geralt stalked towards him like prey.

“G…Geralt.” Jaskier shivered, his entire body thrumming like a live wire. If he didn’t know Geralt better, he might have feared the witcher were there to kill him. Actually, he still did.

“Do you think I’m going to stand by like a cuckold and let some stranger paw at you?” Geralt’s words were barely above a ragged whisper, as if all the rage, discomfort, stress and lust from the last week were making his screams silent. “You are mine.”

Jaskier gulped. Geralt must have known, surely he must have known, that Jaskier wouldn’t even entertain…

A hand was on his neck, yanking him painfully forward. Jaskier yelped but Geralt swallowed his moan, bruising Jaskier’s lips with his own, shoving his tongue so far into his mouth that Geralt was all he could taste.

Jaskier’s eyes actually crossed before they fluttered closed. His body went weak against the hard lines of the witcher’s own but Geralt’s strong hands were cradling him, _gripping_ him, keeping him upright as his mouth _assaulted_ Jaskier’s, not allowing him to move, not allowing him to breathe. Jaskier whimpered into Geralt’s mouth.

Geralt pulled away but didn’t move, breathing heavily over Jaskier’s mouth. “You’ve been a little shit all week.” He growled, licking a thick stripe from the corner of his mouth down to his neck.

“Oh, fuck, Geralt, _yes_ …” He moaned, shivering as Geralt’s hands gripped his waist tighter. His mouth clamped and sucked on Jaskier’s sensitive neck. “ _Yes_.” He sighed. “Give it to me, hurt me, oh…”

Geralt’s hands left his hips, his mouth left his neck and Jaskier felt empty and alone. He physically deflated as he watched Geralt walk away from him, getting used to this pattern of saying the wrong thing and Geralt responding in the only way he knew how.

Geralt’s hand reached for the still slightly ajar wooden door, and pushed it closed. He didn’t lower his hand, standing with his back to Jaskier. Jaskier didn’t dare speak.

“Have you,” Geralt finally said to the door, “have you been pissing me off all week so I’m rougher with you in bed?”

“Yes.”

Geralt turned to him, but his eyes were on the floor. “Am I not enough for you?”

“ _What_?” Jaskier exclaimed before stalking forward and seizing Geralt’s gloved hands in his own. The witcher’s golden eyes flicked to him instinctively.

“Geralt, you’re _everything_ to me.” Jaskier said. “You’re my whole fucking world. You _know_ that.”

“Then why are you trying to change everything?”

“I’m not.” Jaskier explained desperately, mortified to feel tears pricking at the sides of his eyes. “I’m not trying to change things, Geralt, I’m trying to make things normal. I’m trying to put things back the way they should be. You’re a witcher, you think everything that isn’t you is made from glass. That’s why you feel safe being yourself with Yennefer, even Triss, because you feel like you can’t hurt them, _but I’m strong too, Geralt_. And more than that, I trust you. I trust you not to hurt me. I want all of you, witcher, I want you to be unafraid when you’re with me.”

Geralt sighed, his eyes slid shut as he cupped Jaskier’s cheek, letting his forehead fall gently against Jaskier’s. Jaskier breathed in that familiar scent of lavender and leather.

“It’s so hard to hold back around you,” Geralt sighed softly against his skin, breath tickling his nose.

“Then let go.”

Geralt’s gloved hand curled around his ass. Jaskier let out an appreciative hum before he was being lifted into the air. He yelped, wrapping his legs around Geralt’s waist instinctively to stop himself from falling and scrabbling for purchase around the witcher’s neck. He felt Geralt’s cock, hot and hard against his inner thigh.

Their eyes met and Geralt’s golden orbs were narrowed and questioning.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked, giving Jaskier a chance to back out.

Jaskier nodded mutely and Geralt turned, slamming the bard’s back against the door. The aged cedar groaned under the force of it, sending a jolt straight through Jaskier’s body. He squeaked instinctively at the rough treatment before Geralt’s mouth was back on his, bruising his lips with his own. Geralt’s hands disappeared from Jaskier’s ass, pinning him to the door with his hips alone, as he unbuckled his armour and drew his undershirt over his head, revealing the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen, covered in scars and smattered with soft hair.

Geralt lifted his arm, bicep muscle rippling dangerously beneath his pale skin, before he wrenched Jaskier’s right hand from his neck and ran it over his own naked stomach, the firm press of taut muscle unyielding against Jaskier’s palm. Geralt kept his hand pressed there, as if saying, _do you feel that, boy? All the power you have unleashed upon yourself._

“Oh, _fuck_ , Geralt-“ but the witcher was kissing him again, tongue brushing forcefully into his mouth. Jaskier’s fingertips fluttered over Geralt’s abdomen, tracing the curves of the individual muscles there. Geralt ground his hard cock into Jaskier’s, swallowing his moans with his kiss. Jaskier was dizzy with want, mad with desire, so _full_ of the witcher that he would never be whole again without him.

Geralt disconnected their mouths, a trail of spittle linking their lips together, and Jaskier took the opportunity to shuck his doublet and undershirt and wrap his arms around the witcher, feeling his back muscles under his fingertips, feeling their chests pressed together and _warm, so warm,_ Geralt buried his head in Jaskier’s neck, sniffing deeply, before sighing against him.

“G…Geralt…?”

“You smell…” The witcher tried to explain, voice lax and liquid against Jaskier’s cheekbone. “You’ve never smelt like this before.”

_Because I’ve never felt so connected to you, never been more in love with you, never, never…_

“You smell delicious.” Geralt’s growl was predatory. His lips parted back, baring glinting fangs before they sunk into the supple flesh of Jaskier’s bowed neck.

“Guh.” The noise that left Jaskier’s attacked throat was not human. His head fell back against the door with such force it hurt, heat and pain and pleasure rushed through his body. A warm, wet tongue chased bite marks, savouring the taste before a mouth was nibbling at his jawline, leaving small red marks along his skin like Geralt was marking him.

Geralt went to kiss him but Jaskier beat him too it, capturing the Witcher’s bottom lip between his teeth and nipping, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to spark pain, to get his attention.

Gold eyes zeroed in on his.

“You better shove your cock in my ass right fucking now, you _animal_.”

Geralt leant in again, bypassing his mouth, until warm breath was ghosting over his ear.

“You’re not in control, here.” He whispered.

Blood rose in Jaskier’s cheeks. “Yes, sir.” He replied.

“Go to my pack.” Geralt told him. “Get the oil, then get back here.”

Slowly, gently, because it was still Geralt, of course, the witcher lowered Jaskier down onto shaky legs. Jaskier grasped his upper arms for a moment until he was sure he wasn’t going to topple over, then he crossed the room on shaky legs and retrieved the oil they often used for this from Geralt’s pack.

When he returned, he found Geralt with one hand against the door. With the other, he’d worked his cock out of his black breeches and was slowly wanking himself, the engorged crown of his cock slowly disappearing in and out of the tight ring of his hand.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” Jaskier all but whispered, but Geralt heard. “You’re going to make me cum just watching you.”

“I doubt that.” Geralt snorted, but his voice was low and heady, mind disappearing into the hand on his cock. “You haven’t even touched yourself.”

For the first time, Jaskier looked down at his own dick, hard and leaking a wet spot through his still-closed trousers.

“I don’t need that, Geralt, I’ve never needed that.” He took a step closer to his witcher, inserting himself back between Geralt and the door, bringing a hand up to Geralt’s cheek and nosing his neck. “I only need _you._ ”

“You have me.” Geralt muttered. “I want to fuck you so badly.”

Jaskier quirked an eyebrow. “Take what’s yours, then.”

Geralt grinned, actually grinned, before they were kissing again. Geralt’s hands made quick work of Jaskier’s breeches and soon they were abandoned on the floor and the witcher had taken Jaskier’s hard length in his hand, giving him a few shallow pumps.

“Oh, harder, please.” Jaskier begged.

And for the first time, Geralt complied.

He tightened his fist around Jaskier’s cock and jerked him with short, sharp tugs. Precum dribbled from his cockhead and Geralt hummed, low and satisfied, at the sight.

His other hand snagged the oil from Jaskier’s hand. “Turn around.” He instructed.

Jaskier turned until he was facing the door. Geralt didn’t take his hand off Jaskier’s cock, moving down and blindly fondling his balls as he trailed a slick finger against Jaskier’s puckered opening. The bard shivered in anticipation, then the thick digit was sinking into his waiting heat. Jaskier groaned, forehead falling forward and hitting the door as Geralt sunk all the way in to the knuckle, pulling out again, applying more oil, and sinking back in.

“Fuck.” Was all Jaskier could say, alternating between driving forward into the hand on his cock and back onto the finger in his ass. After a moment, Geralt left his cock, and ran his hand comfortingly up his back, as he sunk another finger deep into Jaskier’s waiting body.

Geralt fingered him open slowly for what must have been about ten minutes, brushing over his prostate and stretching the ring of muscle until he was shivering. Geralt continued to stroke his taut back comfortingly, keeping him grounded against the intrusion. This was nothing new, of course, the witcher was aware he had a cock to rival the gods and always made sure Jaskier was ready for him.

When he was three fingers deep, pressing his fingertips insistently against the place in Jaskier that made his knees go weak, he did something he’d never done before – he sped up.

Jaskier’s eyes flew open as Geralt thrust his fingers deep, nailing his prostate. Jaskier’s whole body jolted with the force of it. His cock, abandoned, jumped between his legs.

Geralt’s fingers flexed inside him, pressure pummelling inside him. “Geralt!” He squeaked, legs wobbling. Then the fingers were gone, the thick crown of Geralt’s cockhead pushed against his hole, resisting, then slipping in, then “GERALT!” Jaskier screamed as Geralt bottomed out in one thrust, his balls slapping obscenely against Jaskier’s ass as he buried himself deep. Jaskier’s eyes rolled back. The stretch was _intense_ , there was no other word for it.

His hand flew in front of him, scrabbling at the wood of the door to steady himself as the other hand reached back, grasping Geralt’s thick thigh painfully. His nails dug into the witcher’s supple flesh, begging him to stay still, to move, oh Christ he didn’t know but he wanted _more_.

Geralt’s arm reached over him, hand resting over Jaskier’s own against the door, his chin settling in the crook of Jaskier’s neck and breathing deeply. He didn’t move, allowing Jaskier to accommodate the rude intrusion. Jaskier let out an involuntary, shaky laugh at the contact as he was momentarily reminded, glad, that Geralt was here to share this experience with him, that he was safe, no matter what.

He turned his head, capturing his lips in a kiss. Geralt returned the kiss, not releasing his mouth as he pulled back and began thrusting into the bard’s asshole with slow, deep thrusts. Jaskier groaned into Geralt’s mouth, the insistent pressure on his prostate made his entire bottom half feel like it was on fire. He could _feel_ his balls filling with liquid, tightening, like a dam that was about to burst –

Geralt released his mouth and buried his head between his shoulder blades, licking the sweat from the muscle there as he pulled all the way out of Jaskier’s body, leaving his hole empty and fluttering, then snapped his hips and thrust back in, harder than before, harder than _ever_.

“Oh, Jesus, fuck!”

“Jaskier?”

“Oh god, please, _please don’t stop._ ” He babbled into the wood of the door. “Dear sweet gods above, Geralt, please fuck me.”

Geralt did. Before Jaskier could breathe, the witcher was slamming back into him, brutalising his prostate with each aggressive thrust of his hips. Jaskier could _feel_ Geralt’s cockhead parting his hole like a blooming flower, hard, sharp, _fast_ , his legs buckled beneath him but Geralt didn’t care, didn’t stop, _fucking_ him without mercy. The fire in Jaskier’s groin intensified, the pressure boiling like water erupted and his dick, untouched, spurted thick white ropes that splattered on the door.

He didn’t scream, he didn’t cry, he didn’t groan, he _shook_. His entire body convulsed like the cold hitting you after leaving a hot bath. His orgasm attacked every nerve in his body and left him wrecked.

Jaskier would write a ballad about this moment, he’d write a fucking _orchestra_.

But Geralt wasn’t stopping, wasn’t slowing. If anything, his thrusts increased in their intensity to match the tightening of Jaskier’s walls as he came, ensuring he still pounded Jaskier’s sweet spot with every thrust. All Jaskier could do was take it, accepting the cock driving into his orgasm-loosened body, muscles in his arms and legs dancing as he fought to keep himself upright. The feeling of it was indescribable. Like being on fire and loving it. Hell, if that wasn’t a metaphor for his entire relationship with Geralt, then he’d burn his lute.

“Geralt.” Jaskier moaned, hand falling from the door as he slumped forward. Strong hands wrapped around his chest, holding him tight and drawing him back until hips aligned with hips, shifting the witcher’s massive cock in his ass, pushing it deeper, making it tighter, and still those sharp jerks continued. Gods, Jaskier had no idea how damn insatiable his witcher was. He didn’t stop for a second, and his own cock hadn’t flagged in the least.

Jaskier barely knew where he was, like he was lost in a dream. His skin prickled with head, with heady, indescribable _good_ , his hips stuttered, then –

“You’re going to cum again.” The witcher growled. Not a question, not a surprised discovery. Decisive. An affirmation. An order.

“Yes.” Jaskier’s voice broke on the word, not noticing how close he was until Geralt told him. Geralt’s hand wasted no time in moving down from his chest and wrapping around him. Jaskier squeaked, cock sensitive from orgasm, head falling back against Geralt’s shoulder as he fisted his dick, fucked him hard, and soon he was cumming, cumming, cumming for days – white spunk hitting the door higher than before until it was dribbling down like drizzle.

Jaskier collapsed against the door, exhausted, sweat beading on his forehead, muscles quivering, asshole contracting around the hard dick still very much embedded inside him. 

“Geralt…” Jaskier’s voice was low, broken, exhausted, against the door. “Cum in me.”

The witcher gripped his hips in reply and thrust and Jaskier moaned brokenly, a high-pitched whine escaping him as he scrabbled his legs together, hand finding Geralt’s on his hip and stilling him.

“Jas?” He asked.

“Please.” He panted. “I want it, keep going, just don’t touch me _there,_ I can’t take it, maybe shallow, you could…”

Geralt nipped at Jaskier’s earlobe and he jumped. “Not a chance.” The witcher growled. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Real fear rushed through Jaskier’s body; he might die if he came again. Geralt’s thick cock slipped out of him and he was turned around. He expected Geralt’s eyes to be black, to have thick, dark veins skewering his cheeks but he didn’t.

His white hair was down, errand strands falling over his face and eyes that were wide and shining. A sheen of sweat made his skin glisten and muscles danced beneath his skin from exertion. Beautiful.

Geralt held his hand out, offering it to Jaskier, Jaskier took it. Geralt led him backwards, to the bed in the corner of the room, and left him standing while he sat, lying back on the mattress before urging Jaskier to climb over him until his jelly legs were settled on either side of the witcher’s waist. Geralt’s stiff cock lined up with the slick cleft of Jaskier’s ass. Jaskier’s dick was swollen and bobbing in protest between them, his hole fluttering uncontrollably and sensitive, used, _overused_ , he - 

“This is what you wanted.” Geralt reminded him. “All of me.”

Jaskier nodded, mouth dry. “Yeah, I know. I just didn’t think…”

“Enough talking.” Geralt interrupted, voice ragged. “ _Sit_.”

Jaskier swallowed as sparks of arousal ignited traitorously in his stomach. His hand involuntarily reached behind himself, lining up Geralt’s cock and sinking down easily, until his ass was flush with Geralt’s sharp hip bones. Jaskier’s eyes fluttered closed as Geralt’s thick cockhead jammed against his overstimulated prostate. He raised himself onto his knees instinctively, unsure if he was chasing pleasure or running from it. His cock jerked between them and he found a hand on himself, jerking him with slow, slick thrusts. He started to tell Geralt to stop, that it was too much, until he realised that it was his own hand, and the thought of stopping, of ending whatever this new realm of pleasure he had wandered into, was painful.

His eyes met Geralt’s and the look on the witcher’s face was one of rapture, pleasure, contentment – he looked the happiest Jaskier had ever seen him.

Jaskier wanted to move, with all of his soul, but his legs were liquid and his thighs shook. Geralt’s strong hands settled on his hips, guiding him up until a few inches of Geralt’s cock slipped free, then slammed his body back down, forcing Jaskier to accept the stretch, the fullness, the pleasure shrouding him like a cocoon. He groaned, low and soft, as Geralt kept him moving, starting slow but it wasn’t long before Geralt was panting, speeding up, pumping his hips up into Jaskier’s yielding body. 

“Uhh.” Jaskier slurred, legs twitching closed abortively while the hand on his cock sped up.

“Cum for me, Jaskier.” Geralt said softly.

“You first.” Jaskier replied.

Geralt grunted and his thrusts sped up. A string of unintelligible noises fell from Jaskier’s mouth as his ass clamped down on the cock shooting pleasure through him like firebolts. Oh gods, he couldn’t take it, it was too much.

Geralt’s hands left his hips, stroking up his body. Jaskier barely noticed until those thick fingers enclosed around his throat and tightened.

The pressure was light, his windpipe restricted, not cut off, but by Christ that was all he needed, Geralt controlling him, Geralt _allowing_ him to breathe. Those hands could tighten any second, choke him, snap his neck, but they didn’t. They never would. This man, this beast, under his control. Jaskier was _god_.

His eyes closed and he felt like he had been transported to the realm of the gods. _This_ was the feeling of being fucked, blissed out, on the edge of pain and danger and so, so safe.

“I love you.” The words were choked, but they were there.

Geralt growled as he stared up at Jaskier’s face, so small in his hands, but he didn’t look afraid. His eyes were fluttering, glazed over. He was wearing a dizzying smile like a madman. Geralt had done that to him, he’d driven him mad, made him look _beautiful, perfect_ , he wanted to make him look like that every damn day.

Jaskier’s hand sped up, stripping his dick in what must have been painfully hard tugs and Geralt snapped his hips up once, twice, enveloped in that tight heat before he was spilling inside Jaskier, his cock jerking uncontrollably, trapped inside the confines of Jaskier’s walls. He never wanted to leave.

A few pitiful spurts of cum dribbled from Jaskier’s cock, but his shuddering body and lax mouth told the witcher that he felt it to his core.

After a moment of heavy breathing, Geralt gently moved his hands away from Jaskier’s neck and the bard all but collapsed, exhausted, onto the bed next to him. He buried his face into the pillow, thighs twitching as he unknowingly humped the mattress with gentle thrusts. The movement shook Geralt’s own seed from his still-contracting hole and the witcher watched as copious amounts of cum dribbled from Jaskier’s lax hole and down his thighs, coating him in Geralt’s scent.

Fuck, was _this_ what it felt like? To have someone, to give them you.

“Fuck.” He moaned.

Jaskier lifted his head imperceptibly, eyes bleary and fucked out.

“What?” He slurred.

“You were right.” Geralt told the ceiling. “I hate admitting that.”

A smile so bright it belonged to the sky broke out on the bard’s face. “I’m right?”

Geralt turned to him. “I don’t have to be afraid.”

Jaskier crawled forward a few inches before pressing a soft kiss to Geralt’s nose. He might have been aiming for his mouth, but he’d lost all co-ordination.

Geralt hummed in appreciation.

“Did you mean it?” He asked. “You said you love me.”

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered closed, body quaking, stomach rising and falling as his breath evened out. “Mmm.” He mumbled.

Geralt let him sleep. That was a conversation for another day.

Still – “I love you, too.”

The end.


End file.
